


Her Oliver

by hope27



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Season/Series 03, arrow 3x23
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-07
Updated: 2015-05-07
Packaged: 2018-03-29 10:30:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3893026
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hope27/pseuds/hope27
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the dust settles, Oliver shows up on Felicity's doorstep and they finally have time to reconnect and talk after everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her Oliver

**Author's Note:**

> **A/N:** So 3x22 was rough...and I wrote as I always tend to do. I just wanted a moment for Oliver and Felicity to find some time to talk and take in everything. I don’t expect anything like this to happen...but I had to write it and I hope you enjoy it! :)
> 
> As always, I LOVE to know what you think! Thanks so much for reading and commenting! 
> 
> ARROW 3x22 SPOILERS!

There’s no time to breathe, much less talk, but she feels his gaze on her constantly the moment he steps into their newest Foundry at Palmer Tech.

She catches his eyes a few times, emotions swirling, so much that needs to be said but not enough time. 

There never seems to be enough time.

That has always seemed to be their biggest obstacle.

The moment she hears his over the comms, voice loud and commanding and absolutely in control, her heart seems to leap back to life, and she takes the first deep breath she has since she’d walked away from him almost a month ago in Nanda Parbat.

“My name is Oliver Queen!”

A tear slips down her cheek and she quickly swipes it away before getting back to work, leading her team to another victory and keeping their city safe.

When the dust settles, she finds him at her door, still in his black leathers.

A rush of air leaves her at seeing him whole and in front of her once more. She catches his fingers rubbing together at his side, a tension hanging between them that she hates.

Without words, she invites him in, closing the door and locking it behind them, wanting to keep the world at bay for just a little bit.

Time. They need time.

She turns to find him staring at her, hood down, bow and arrow gone.

And suddenly she needs him out of that suit, out of everything that made him Al SaHim.

She’s moving before she realizes it. Her hands finding the buckles to his quiver, unbuttoning the large jacket and shoving it off his shoulders. With only slightly trembling hands, she grabs the hem of the black shirt beneath and pulls it up, and he helps by bending so she can remove it completely.

Her heart is beating in her chest as she finally gets to look at him again for the first time since that night. Her eyes fly to his and she gasps, a silent, inaudible sound that catches in her throat and makes her eyes water as she sees the depth of pain and turmoil staring back at her.

This wasn’t easy for him. They’d both suffered during this time. Both lost and ached and longed for things they didn’t know if they’d ever have again.

She watches as he bows his head and she steps closer, her fingers sweeping up and over his chest, looking for any new marks or scars. She finds a few, ghosting over them, watching as his breath hitches with each movement.

When she is done with the front, she steps to the side, and slowly, she circles him, searching out every new detail, wanting to know and heal any wounds he has, hoping they will also help heal her own.

She freezes when she sees his back, the angry red skin still relatively fresh, a brand in the shape of an arrow. 

_Al SaHim._

She sees how his muscles tense, his hands balling into fists at his side before she covers the brand with her palm, splaying her fingers flat against the plane of his back. 

At her touch, he releases a long breath, a noise escaping the back of his throat. She stays there, her hand covering the marking that will forever remain a part of him but not define who he is and who he chooses to be. She lets her touch steady them both, feels the tips of his fingers reaching for her, grazing the side of her hip.

Her heart constricts in her chest and she can barely breath for a moment until she feels his chest start to rise and fall beneath her palm and she matches her breathing to his.

She lets her fingers linger until they can no longer feel the raised ridges of the brand as she continues her circle around him, and then she’s standing in front of him once more.

Her eyes find his in her dimly lit apartment. She sees the darkness he’d flirted with, the pain it caused him to go through with any of his plan, and it makes her recall her own.

Tearing her eyes away, she reaches for his belt, needing to finish the task she started, words bubbling up in the back of her throat that they are not ready for yet.

She moves to his belt next, flicking open the large buckle and sliding it through the loops. The muscles in his abdomen contract at the movement and she can see his fingers flexing at his sides once more.

She makes quick work of the zipper and then pushes his pants down his hips, bending down to undo his boots before he’s slipping out of them and standing before her in nothing more than a pair of black boxer briefs.

When she returns her gaze to his, his eyes are closed and he looks lighter, at least for the moment.

Feeling the exhaustion in her own body, she reaches out, grabs his hand in her own, and tugs.

He follows without hesitation as she leads them to her darkened bedroom, the moonlight filtering in through the drapes.

She says nothing as she toes off her boots and shrugs out of her jacket before adding her shirt and pants to her own pile of clothes on the floor.

She reaches for the shirt - his shirt - that she’d taken from the Foundry before everything had gone to hell, and slips it over her shoulders.

Before turning to her bathroom, she pushes him towards her bed, a silent command.

When she flicks on the light in the bathroom, she blinks at her reflection in the mirror. She looks like she hasn’t slept in weeks, and it’s almost the truth. Sleep has been plagued with nightmares and she’d woken too many times to count with his name on her lips.

Brushing her teeth and pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she spares herself one more glance ignoring the minor cuts and bruises she sees, knowing Digg had checked her over already, before padding back into the bedroom to find the bed empty, and Oliver standing by the window, still clad in only his black boxer briefs.

His profile is amazing any day, but in the moonlight, he's stunning. The light filters across the hard planes and slopes of his body, and she drinks him in, drinks in the sight of his shoulders rising and falling, the play of muscles across his back and the way she remembers he feels when he's surrounding her.

She bites her lower lip as she can see he’s lost in thought. She knows there is so much to say, but she doesn’t know where to start or how, and she’s beyond tired.

Making sure to let the floorboards creak beneath her feet, she pads over to the bed and slips in, leaving the side closest to the door open for him.

She watches him silently, the outline of the new brand faint but visible in the darkness, and that’s when the tears come.

Walking away from him, watching him return, the coldness, the heartbreak at wondering if she’d ever see her Oliver again, the plan, learning he would marry someone else, watching him walk away from them in a cell in Nanda Parbat…

She knows it was part of the plan, understands his reasons for not letting them in on everything. She remembers his look when they’d all been standing in front of Ra’s and he’d told them about his wedding. He’d been begging her to trust him.

And she did.

But it had hurt to watch him walk away. To leave them there. 

Everything comes crashing down on her at once and she rolls to her side, curling up until she is as small as she can get and lets it all out.

She doesn’t hear his footfalls or feel the bed dip, but suddenly strong, warm arms wrap around her from behind, pulling her into a solid, familiar chest.

She struggles at first, that anger that had been warring within her at his choices flaring up before it is overcome with heartache and relief. The sobs wrack through her, shaking her entire frame, but he holds her close, and it feels like he's the only thing keeping her together.

He buries his face in her hair, and she finally makes out his voice, whispering words against her skin.

Through the tears and fog in her head, she shifts, sliding her hands down to find his that are locked around her waist and she intertwines their fingers, squeezing tightly. He pulls her flush against him, into the full cocoon of his body. And she feels safe and warm and whole once more.

His words don’t stop until her tears do, and that is when she hears her name followed by two words. 

“I’m sorry.”

She doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, simply lets his words hang between them, and then she turns in his arms, their legs tangling.

“I know you did what you thought you had to do to keep everyone safe,” she breathes, staring at the juncture of his neck and shoulder before lifting her eyes to his. She finds sadness mixing with the hope and pain, and she instantly wants to soothe it but know he needs to understand. “But if you ever do that again - if you ever leave me in the dark - you will wish you were back in Nanda Parbat…”

He lets out a soft huff of breath before his eyes grow serious and his hand cups her cheek. “Never.”

“We’re partners, Oliver…”

“We are,” he breathes, kissing her forehead softly. “Walking away from you...leaving you there, even knowing it was part of the plan, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do…”

His voice breaks, the confession hanging between them as tears make her vision swim.

She snuggles closer to him, pressing her self as far against him as she can, and her palms flat on his back as if she could take him into herself completely, trying to take away the pain they both faced.

“Are you still married?”

She knows her question surprises him, feels the way his body stiffens and then he lets out a soft breath.

“I never really was,” he mutters, “Not in the eyes of any real law…”

“Are you?” she presses, needing to know.

His hand trails up her back and to her hair, pushing strands away from her face before tilting her head up.

“No.”

A tension that she had been trying to ignore for more than 24 hours dissipates from deep in her chest and she swallows.

“Good,” she croaks, and when his thumb catches an errant tear, she leans into his hand.

“I never wanted to marry her,” he breathes, his eyes full of turmoil and truth, and she nods, knowing it’s the truth. “There’s only one person I want to…”

She inhales sharply as his words drift off, eyes flying to his as she blinks back tears, hearing the unspoken words on his lips.

A small smile lifts the corners of her mouth and it almost feels foreign.

His eyes flit down to her lips before asking her silently for permission. 

She moves first, lifting up and seeking out his lips, sighing when he meets her halfway, soft and warm and welcoming.

His tongue runs along the seam and she opens to him, let out a soft sigh as her hands trail up from his back to the short hair on his head.

She’d missed this, thought she might never get to kiss him again, feel his arms around her and those thoughts had left her so cold and lonely. 

But he is here. Alive and warm and safe, and she feels the same, finally.

He’s her best friend. Her partner. Her love.

“I love you,” he breathes against her lips and she nods, pressing her forehead to his, pushing past the lump in her throat to say them back, her voice breaking on his name.

His name.

Oliver. _Her_ Oliver.


End file.
